every year he drives up from Washington
parks his camper on the land
spends weeks watching the clapping of leaves in the wind,
how the river goosenecks in the valley, below
and he clears deadfall, walks
the land from all angles, envisions the placement
of a house just so
He has hands that have built things, thick-fingered
rough hewn, hardened
he knows tools: the axe, the pick, and the saw
he thinks of nothing else when he gets back home, to live in a landscape he loves, to create something new from the ground up, but…
But I’m 75, he says
and my son says why bother, insinuating
“you’ll die soon”
…and I say to the man, so what?
I say dreams don’t die until we’re cold and dark, under
I say live that vision in your mind’s eye
I say walk your dream, home

6 thoughts on “Too Late?”

  1. Ginny Berry Marzonie

    Yes Dear Cuz I love this as well! It’s beginning to be more relevant as I age but we always think we can do what we use to. NEVER give up..

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